


Konbini-kun

by freckled_krista



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/F, Heavy Drinking, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 09:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7839028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckled_krista/pseuds/freckled_krista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yahaba thought that it couldn't get any worse.<br/>But then he began working the night shift at the convenience store, threw up in front of his crush, and met the worlds rudest discount-enthusiast.<br/>How wrong he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Konbini-kun

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I've been reading haikyuu! fics for a long time now and thought that it was finally time to give it a try myself!!  
> The title is (shamelessly) borrowed from the manga of the same name. It's cute!  
> I am deeply in love with Kyouhaba so it will be the main focus of this fic! There will be other pairings but I will put them in the tags as they become relevant. Just as a heads-up, I will most likely be including: Kenma/Kuroo, Oikawa/Iwaizumi, Kunimi/Kindaichi, Tanaka/Ennoshita, Yachi/Kiyoko, and others, but I don't have them all planned out yet! It's in the tags but, just as an extra precaution, there is a brief description of a panic attack in this chapter.  
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Yahaba yawned loudly as he rearranged the magazines for what felt like the hundredth time. He idly scanned the covers, taking in the multitude of pretty women -hastily averting his gaze from the _less clothed_ pretty women- and quickly leafed through a magazine consisting solely of cute pictures of cats. He placed it back, fearful that the manager could somehow be watching him even though he was alone, and considered buying it after his shift was over. He would have to hide it, unsure if his roommates reaction would be to tease him for it or to steal it and have the cute cats all to himself. He had become quite skilled at hiding his possessions after his roommate had 'come across' one of his own magazines containing _less clothed_ pretty men. 

He took another quick tour of the store, carefully tweaking a few wonky signs or misplaced items as he went, before returning to his post behind the counter. He leant against the counter slightly, trying to find a comfortable position, but nothing seemed to work.  He shifted from leg to leg, cursing his manager for not allowing them seats to rest on.

 Yahaba was only an hour into his shift and he had already had enough. He moved swiftly from cursing his manager to cursing Watari for forcing him to swap shifts. He'd been perfectly happy, or at least resigned to, working his afternoon and weekend shifts that still allowed him to attend his lectures and study. Sure, the pay wasn't great and customers could be a pain in the ass sometimes but it paid the bills and the shifts usually went by quickly enough by chatting to his co-workers and dealing with the lunch-time rushes. But the night shift. This was a different beast entirely.

_'Please Yahaba, it'll be easy. No customers, peace and quiet.  Easy. It's a piece of cake._ '

Watari had begged him to swap shifts for a few weeks due to a ridiculously heavy workload at university and Yahaba, now cursing himself for his foolishness, had agreed. He'd imagined that it would be peaceful, relaxing almost, but he only found it tedious. He was on his own in the store and hadn't had a single customer since his shift began. He supposed that he should count himself lucky, considering that there was a high possibility that any customers that came in during the night would be drunk, but he couldn't help wish for something to relieve the boredom.

The textbooks that he had hidden underneath the counter beckoned him. Strictly speaking he wasn't supposed to be studying at work but, seeing as he was the only one in the store, he reckoned that he could get away with it. He doubted that the manager watched the CCTV footage and, if any customers came in he could quickly sweep them off the counter. He couldn't afford to waste his time standing around when he could be studying, even if he  was being paid for it. He had an essay due next week that he hadn’t even started researching for. Truth be told he hadn't even finished the books he was supposed to be analysing in his essay but Wikipedia had gotten him this far, surely it wouldn't fail him now.

Yahaba dropped the books onto the counter with a heavy thud and began to leaf through a second-hand copy of _Crime and Punishment_ , occasionally dipping into _Existentialism for Dummies_ when the bleakness of the novel began to bore him. It wasn't an easy read and Yahaba was beginning to regret taking the class, having been lured in by a vague interest in the philosophy and the prospect of only having to write one essay to pass. Once again, Yahaba cursed himself, the weight of all his other classes and their looming deadlines filling him with tension. He was spending so much time on this one stupid class, when he had others clamouring for attention, making it difficult to know which to prioritise. The grades he had received on his previous classes this year hadn't been high enough for him to be able to slack now. He pushed the thought away, a wave of nausea filling him at the mere thought of failing his classes, and tried to concentrate on the stupid novel.

 

Sighing heavily, he shifted, his legs protesting against standing for so long. He let his gaze wander around the store, landing on a crate near the back door, piled high with boxes of goods. He'd already filled the shelves in the first hour so these were all surplus. He'd have to return them to the back at some point but surely, just for a few hours, he could make use of them. Yahaba grabbed a box, grunting at the sudden weight (how was a box full of CalorieMate so damn heavy?) and put it down inelegantly behind the counter. He placed another one on top and gave it a little shove to check its sturdiness, then perched on top of his newly fashioned throne. That wasn't so difficult. It was just high enough that, if a customer were to walk in, it would appear that he was standing, albeit a few inches shorter than normal. But, if Yahaba's hunch was correct, any customers that did stop by would be drunk so they probably wouldn't notice, or care.

He returned to his books, congratulating himself on a job well done, and yawned slightly as he trudged through the novel. His recent routine of late nights and early morning lectures was beginning to take its toll. He'd managed to take a quick nap in the library earlier but he was already feeling guilty about the lost time and the harsh words that he had dealt his classmate for not waking him up. Kenma was already skittish enough around him, he hadn't deserved being the target of Yahaba's frustrations. Yahaba determined to shoot him a text after work to apologise and maybe suggest a game night after their deadlines were over.

Fatigue stung his eyes as he read, the words beginning to blur together. Yahaba rubbed at his eyes, enjoying the sensation until he remembered that he was wearing mascara. It was only a few shades darker than his hair- recently dyed to an ashy-grey- but helped to make his eyes stand out and was now smudged all over his hands and, presumably, his face. Yahaba cursed under his breath, quickly ducking into the back to fetch a pack of face wipes from his bag. He swiped at his eyes, cleaning off the mascara and the light foundation that he had applied. Oh well. He supposed no-one was likely to see him tonight so it didn't matter so much  if his dark circles and acne scars were visible. If he got too self-conscious he could always slip on a face mask and hide. He knew that Kenma often wore one when he was feeling vulnerable or exposed so it was a decent last resort.

He returned to his perch, giving up on his book and simply staring out the window at the dark street and empty parking lot. His bike was leant  despondently against the wall and Yahaba wondered whether he'd be able to repaint it himself, the teal paint having chipped and worn with use. He pondered the question for a while before filing it away into his collection of things that he knew he would never get round to doing alongside taking up yoga and learning to cook. Oikawa was always hounding him to join his yoga class but, whilst Yahaba couldn't deny that Oikawa's body was nothing short of perfect, he suspected that his love of yoga had less to do with exercise and more to do with the hot yoga instructor. Maybe if he took up yoga he could look more like Oikawa, could be closer to his perfection, his effortless grace. Maybe it could be a good excuse to spend some more time with Oikawa, to lure him away from the hot yoga instructor and realise his unbridled passion for Yahaba. Or maybe he would make a fool of himself, firmly planting himself in Oikawa's list of undateables because of his inability to touch his toes or contort himself into a pretzel or whatever it was that yoga involved.

Yahaba dropped his head onto the counter and groaned, disliking the thoughts that the lack of distractions seemed to summon. At least with Kunimi and Kindaichi here he could distract himself by bitching with them about rude customers or annoying lecturers but the silence of the store seemed to breed  negativity. He closed his eyes, diverting his attention to the game that Kenma had told him about earlier on one of their few coffee breaks, allowing his mind to wonder about the characters and how he thought the story might progress. The thoughts must have been effective in relaxing his mind because the next thing he knew he was jolted awake by a loud noise.

Yahaba squawked and nearly fell from his dubiously nutritious perch, only righting himself by grabbing onto the counter. His eyes darted about, disorientated, and came to rest on a man standing in front of him, scowling heavily. He was holding an armful of food and a large water bottle that must have caused the thud rested on the counter-top. Yahaba jumped up, internally praying to a god that he didn't believe in that he didn’t have dried drool on his face. He was a desperate man.

"Welcome to the store." He choked out, more out of ingrained habit than anything else, and the customer merely raised an eyebrow. Yahaba reflexively ducked into a short but low bow, apologising for the wait, and hoping that this guy wasn't going to beat him up in the middle of the night in a deserted convenience store.

"Why's this lot not reduced?" The customer muttered, his voice gruff and relatively quiet. If the store had been full Yahaba wasn't sure that he would have been able to make out what he had said. He inspected the pile of onigiri and shitty processed baked goods and could see the bright red reduced stickers as clear as day.

"I'm sorry sir but they are reduced." He pointed at one of the stickers, trying to keep an affable smile on his face. "Here, you see."

The customer shot him an affronted glare. " I can see that." He shifted, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. "They're usually reduced twice: Once at 9 and then at 12."

Yahaba couldn't help the confusion that spread through him, tinged with more than a little fear. "I'm sorry sir but that isn't store policy. We only reduce items at 9pm."

The customer, somehow, glared at him even more intensely. "That's bullshit, I come here every night and it's always reduced twice."

Yahaba shifted uncomfortably, unsure on how to proceed. Part of him wanted to shout at the man to stop fucking around and get out of the store but another part was becoming more and more scared about his obvious anger and even more obvious muscles. "I'm sorry sir but-"

The man interrupted him with a grunt and grabbed half of the food, shoving the packages unceremoniously back on the shelf before slamming down several 500 yen coins on the counter. Yahaba didn't dare speak as he swept the remaining food into a ratty backpack and stormed towards the doors. He began to feel relieved but the man suddenly pivoted and stomped back towards the counter. Yahaba's hand hovered over the panic button hidden underneath the counter that would trigger alarms and call the police, but the man simply snatched the forgotten water bottle and left with a last glare in Yahaba's direction.

Yahaba removed his hand from the button, surprised to find it shaking slightly, and let out a tense breath.  It didn't come easy. His vision blurred slightly and a wave of dizziness washed over him. He tried to breathe.  Dread filled him. He crouched behind the counter, focusing on his breaths- in, out, in, out- even though it felt as if his throat was being crushed by invisible hands.  He tried to think positive thoughts, of the new video game that was coming out, of the way Oikawa had smiled at him when he'd brought him milk bread for lunch, the way that his arm had rested over his shoulders as they talked.  Soon enough, his breathing evened out. He'd helped Kenma through enough panic attacks to know that it had to end eventually, even if it felt endless. He'd seen Kenma suffer through worse. That wasn't so bad, he reasoned, even if his legs felt wobbly and his head pounded. Kenma had it worse. He couldn't feel sorry for himself after that. It was nothing.

Pushing himself up, Yahaba wiped at his face, ignoring the few tears that had spilled onto his cheeks. Ridiculous.  Such a fuss over nothing.  Oikawa would have brushed thoughts of the man aside, not crouched behind the counter like a frightened child and cry. He ducked quickly into the back, splashing his face with cold water and slipping on a face mask. He didn't like wearing them in the summer but today he would make an exception. He probably looked terrible. He didn't so much as glace at the mirror to confirm this.

Once he had returned to his post behind the counter, his fear turned to anger. Who the hell did that guy think he was? He had probably seen a new guy in the store and tried to push his luck, hoping to intimidate him into reducing the food. He probably though Yahaba looked like a pushover, an easy target. Yahaba gritted his teeth, wondering if the fucker would try again tomorrow. Hopefully not. He'd have to ask Watari about him, although he was sure that if he did come in every night like he said, Watari would have mentioned him before. He was probably lying.

A spur of the moment decision made Yahaba jump up and head back towards the magazines. Fuck it. This shift had been a mess. He grabbed a copy of the cute cat magazine and, resting his ass back on the CalorieMate tower, began to flick through. Sometimes you just need some cute cats to get through the day.

 

****

 

Yahaba could have cried in relief when Kunimi and Kindaichi entered the store at 5am. They were both yawning and clutching take-out coffee cups that Yahaba had to restrain himself from stealing.  They shot him a quick "Good Morning" and swept into the back to get changed into their uniforms. Yahaba shifted behind the counter, restless and desperate to escape. What a shitshow last night had been. He was ready to head home and collapse into bed. A few customers had visited in the last hours, drunk salarymen and other students grabbing snacks and energy drinks to fuel them through the night. Yahaba had felt a silent solidarity with the students, sharing looks that spoke volumes, that he mostly interpreted as "This sucks, huh?".

The pair slid behind the counter and Kunimi immediately claimed Yahaba's seat on the boxes. Kindaichi sent Yahaba a smile, patting him on the back good-naturedly.

"How was the night-shift?" He asked genially, looking more awake by the second.

 Yahaba merely grunted in response, shaking his head. Kindaichi shrugged and pushed Yahaba towards the back, effectively shooing him away. He didn't need telling twice. He grabbed his bag, swiftly pulling off his work shirt and replacing it with a worn t-shirt and leaving the store with a wave at the pair behind the counter. Finally.

Yahaba sent a quick text to Kenma, apologising for snapping at him, and slipped his phone back into his pocket. Kenma usually took a while to respond, even though he was always glued to his phone. Yahaba assumed that he just liked to think over his responses fully. So, he was surprised when his phone buzzed only a minute later.

Kenma:   **its okay**

**you seemed stressed so i let you sleep**

**are you okay                                                                      (5:21)**

 

You:       _im fine_

_just tired i guess_

_i shouldnt have shouted. sorry again                                (5:23)_

Kenma: **its okay. dont worry**

**is it about the party?**

**or just the essays?                                                           (5:26)**

Yahaba bristled, shocked that Kenma could so easily pinpoint the causes of his distress. He dropped his phone into his bag and ignored the buzzing. He'd reply later, when he'd had some sleep. He trudged home, only stopping once when he realised that he'd left his bike. Oh well, he'd just get it tomorrow. He sighed in relief when his apartment block came into view, slipping inside and into an elevator, already feeling the pull of sleep. He fumbled with his keys, trying to be quiet in case his roommate was still asleep. 

Finally he pushed the door open, shutting it gently behind him and locking it from the inside. The apartment was quiet but Yahaba could see the faint glow of the light in the kitchen. He threw his bag onto the sofa and poked his head around the kitchen door, catching sight of Kuroo perched at the breakfast bar blearily nursing a cup of coffee. Yahaba returned to his bag, digging around until he found the cat magazine, and placed it on the bar in front of Kuroo. He finally noticed him.

"Morning Princess." He smirked, and Yahaba gave a non-committal wave, snagging the coffee from Kuroo's hands and heading towards his bedroom. He ignored the indignant shout from Kuroo, hoping that the cute cats would be enough to appease him. Sure enough, he wasn't pursued and, after draining the coffee, he collapsed into his bed fully clothed.

Fuck the night shift.

****

Yahaba was rudely awoken by his alarm six hours later. He swept his hand around on top of the covers, trying to find his phone but came up empty handed. The alarm persisted. He groaned, remembering that he'd ditched  his bag, and phone, on the sofa. Fuck Past-Yahaba. He messed everything up.

He dragged himself from the bed, his clothes sticking to him uncomfortably in the heat. Jeans did not make good pyjamas. He hobbled towards the sofa, dropping onto it and grabbing his phone from the depths of his bag. He silenced the alarm and glared at the multitude of notifications that appeared on his screen. He abandoned his phone once again, deciding that he needed coffee before attempting to sift through the notifications.  He made a cafetiere of coffee in a bleary haze, appreciating, not for the first time, the fact that Kuroo insisted on having only high-quality coffee in the apartment to feed his caffeine addiction. He didn't pay for it but he reaped the benefits. Nice.

After a few tentative sips Yahaba returned to the sofa and picked up his phone. He had five unread messages from Kenma and a shit-ton of messages in the group chat for his University class. He groaned as he remembered the plans that they had made to meet for lunch. Today. In an hour. He quickly opened the messenger app, intending to simply make an excuse and ditch.  He wasn't in the mood. But, as he read through the messages, he realised that he wasn't the only one to make the decision. Everyone, apart from Oikawa, had cancelled prompting Oikawa to send at least ten messages of complaint. The last message caught Yahaba's attention. 

Beauty_King: **Yahaba-chan you better not cancel too! Don't let me down like these losers, us beauties have to stick together** (*^_^*)

Yahaba checked the time and cursed. 12-10. He was supposed to meet them for lunch at one. He quickly shot off a message to the group, trying not to spend too much time overanalysing what he had written.

SilverFox: _I'll be there!! I might be late though, sorry!_

Oikawa replied almost immediatley and Yahaba tried to calm his racing heart.

Beauty_King: **I knew I could count on my beautiful kouhai! No problem, I'll order something nice for you** (^_-)--*

Yahaba threw the phone down, racing towards the shower and tugging his sweaty clothes off. He chugged the coffee in the shower, glad that the stream of water would wash away the coffee that dribbled down his chin. He was going to lunch with Oikawa. Just him and Oikawa. That had to mean something, right?

Yahaba took extra care washing his hair and made sure to use his most expensive body wash. Oikawa was the type to appreciate the small things after all. He dried himself off, hastily covering his body in a lightly scented body butter and towel-drying his hair. Dashing out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, Yahaba quickly glanced at the time. 12-20. Damn. If only he had more time. He needed to look perfect.

He had just enough time to blow-dry his hair and select an outfit.  He threw on a pair of black jeans and a forest green asymmetric top with matching socks (Oikawa had mentioned that the particular shade complemented his new hair colour) and checked the time again.  12-25. Nice. Yahaba grabbed his make-up bag and applied his favourite foundation- dewy and not too heavy- and mascara, making sure to quickly fill in his eyebrows as well.

He gave himself a quick once-over in the full length mirror, deciding that he looked good enough for the amount of time that he'd been given. It would have to do. He slid some more make-up into his bag just in case and slipped on a new pair of leather pumps, an investment that his bank balance had suffered greatly for. He was just heading out the door but sprinted back to spritz himself with his favourite cologne, possibly stopping to glance a few more times in the mirror as he went.

 

Finally he exited the apartment, locking the door behind him and striding towards the elevator. He'd been rushing too much when getting ready to think fully about the situation. Just him and Oikawa. The nerves finally kicked in, only exacerbated by the fact that he hadn't had enough time to prepare. He could have styled his hair better, could have arranged a better outfit. He took a deep breath. There was nothing he could do now.

 

Yahaba checked his phone, hoping for a distraction from his increasing nervousness about the lunch. Lunch date? Maybe. He opened up the messages from Kenma, guilt filling him again for ignoring Kenma when he was trying to help.

 

Kenma:   **sorry.                                                                                         (6:34 am)**

**yahaba. are you okay                                                             (7:02 am)**

**sleep well                                                                               (7:16 am)**

**i cant go to lunch today                                                         (10:35 am)**

**i dont think you should go with him                                      (11:50 am)**

**meet me at the library later?                                                  (11:54 am)**

 

Yahaba groaned. Of course Kenma thought it was a bad idea. He pushed aside the errant thought that it probably was a bad idea. Ever since the party, Kenma had shown his disapproval of Oikawa through passive aggressive messages and judging looks.

 

 He buzzed with anxiety and shame as he thought back to Oikawa's party. There was no reason for it, no birthday or celebration, but Oikawa had decided to throw a party in his apartment a few weeks ago and it had been quite the affair. He attracted friends easily, his good looks and charming nature appealing to nearly everyone he met, so the apartment had been fit to bursting. Drinks had been flowing and, under Kenma's disapproving glare, Yahaba had out-drunk even Kuroo. Kuroo was notorious for drinking copious amounts of alcohol and then slumping into a heap in the most awkward of places. This time it had been in the sink, the seat of his jeans becoming ominously damp and his legs bent at a surely uncomfortable angle as he snored. Previous locations had been even more bizarre so his friends barely batted an eyelid at his chosen nap spot.

 

Whilst Kuroo's decision making processes had become fatally flawed due to alcohol, Yahaba's seem to have fared even worse. He had decided that now, in front of all of his friends, was the perfect time to settle the 'I'm slightly desperately in love with you' situation. He had sauntered towards Oikawa, stumbling every now and again on thin air, and pushed the cute girl that was currently talking to him aside. She had sent him a venomous glare but he hadn't noticed, too distracted by Oikawa. He looked beautiful. Yahaba had blurted out something to that effect and Oikawa had giggled, batting at his arm playfully.

 

Yahaba had asked to talk to him privately, then dragged him towards a quieter area before he had a chance to answer. Oikawa had been chatting the whole time, his usual barrage of complaints and flirtatious comments. Yahaba had given up trying to decipher what he was saying, instead focusing on the way his lips moved and how soft they looked. Was he wearing lip gloss? He leaned forward and Oikawa had stopped talking. They had been so close. Yahaba had felt his stomach lurch. He had attributed it to his proximity to Oikawa, to the intoxicating feeling of Oikawa's breath fluttering over his lips. Unfortunately, that had not been the cause. Yahaba felt the drinks that he had downed so recently battling their way back to the surface, nausea rolling over him in waves. He had only barely registered Oikawa's shriek, stumbling desperately towards the nearest bathroom.  Just in time.

 

 Half an hour later, Oikawa had fled the scene and Kenma was rubbing soothing circles into his back. Kenma had locked the bathroom door, much to other guests annoyance, and Yahaba had alternated between sobbing into his shoulder and retching into the toilet bowl. He had woken the next morning, tucked carefully in blankets on Kenma's sofa, to a cup of scalding coffee and a stern lecture from his friend. Oikawa, according to Kenma,  would thrive from Yahaba's 'infatuation', lapping up the compliments and admiration but avoiding any actual commitment. Yahaba had, of course, ignored the advice.

 

Oikawa had acted as though nothing had happened, classes being spent gossiping together or trading beauty tips. The usual. Yahaba couldn't decide if he was disappointed or relieved that his actions were apparently being ignored. But now he was going for lunch (a date?) with Oikawa, so maybe this was a step forward? Yahaba fiddled with his hair, inspecting it in the elevator's mirror and trying to push down his nerves. He clung to the thought that it couldn't get much worse than the party and the maybe, just maybe, this could end up being a date.

 

****

 

It wasn't a date.

 

Oikawa had made it abundantly clear that it wasn't a date. He must have mentioned the hot yoga instructor at least a thousand times. He'd even shown Yahaba several surreptitious pictures taken to capture quite how stunning his arm muscles were. To be fair, Yahaba admitted that he was pretty hot. That didn't lessen his burning disappointment and resentment.

 

 He ended up calling the lunch short, using Kenma and their library plans as an excuse to leave. Oikawa had complained about having to eat dessert by himself but Yahaba didn't think he could face him any longer. They parted ways with a hug and Oikawa ruffled his hair, Yahaba internally wincing. He trudged towards the library, shooting a quick text to Kenma to let him know he was on the way.

 

He found Kenma in their usual spot. It was hidden in the back of the library, close enough to the literature section but away from the huddles of students and study groups. Kenma didn’t study well with lots of other people around and Yahaba preferred the quiet anyway. Kenma was hunched behind a massive pile of books, his hair obscuring his face as he read. He didn't look up as Yahaba joined him, simply nudging a fresh coffee across the table towards him. Yahaba accepted it gratefully, sinking into his seat and unloading his books from his bag. He waited for Kenma to speak, to ask about the lunch or comment on the novel they were studying, but he remained silent.

 

Yahaba let out a sigh of relief. He muttered a quiet thanks for the coffee, receiving a small smile in response, and checked the time. 3-30. He had plenty of time to study before he had to go back to work again and guard the store through the night. He pushed the thought away and tried to focus on the books, battling against a yawn.

 

 Ugh, really. Fuck the night shift.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Oh golly, can you tell I studied English in University? The horror of studying existentialism will follow me for the rest of my life. Also, the cute cat magazine exists and I check it out every time I go to the convenience store. A true gift. Never eat CalorieMate, it is more useful as a seat than as food.  
> I apologise for my slightly one-dimensional depiction of Oikawa here as well, I love him and will show his perspective later on, he's not just a flirt. Promise.  
> Hope you're all doing well and thanks again!!


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